I walked around the curve in the path and smiled, the feeling of isolation dissipating as I saw Lloyd already manning his position at the gate. “Good morning,” I called.
He jumped, coffee slopping over the lip of his mug as he turned to stare at me. “Dr. Preston?” he asked.
“I know, I’m early.” I shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. How about you, Lloyd? They always make you come to work this early?”
“My shift starts as soon as there’s staff on the grounds,” he said, recovering some of his composure. He put his coffee down and reached for his clipboard. “ID?”
I shook my head as I pulled out my ID card and handed it to him. “Every day.”
“There were police here yesterday,” he said, in an overly patient tone. “Management wants to be extra sure they know who’s coming and going.” He found my name on his clipboard, checked it off, and handed my ID back to me. “Welcome to the zoo, Dr. Preston.”
“Thanks, Lloyd,” I said, and waved as I walked through the gate. He didn’t wave back. When I glanced over my shoulder he looked away, and I frowned. I must have been really early if my presence was this confounding to security.
The zoo was as deserted as the parking lot. I walked quickly, scanning the ground. I was wearing my glasses with the polarized lenses and carrying a hand mirror, just in case. Crow was still at home. If things went as badly as I feared that they might, he didn’t need to be here.
Unlocking the reptile house was like coming home after an annoyingly short absence. Many of the reptiles were still active after their long and exciting night. Some of them froze when they saw me walking by, their instincts kicking in and causing them to pretend to be bits of fallen wood or pieces of the wall. Others ignored me completely, so accustomed to humans that I was no more important to them than an empty room. If I came back with food, maybe then they’d give a crap about me.
Shami rose in the classic cobra “stand” position when I passed his enclosure, flaring his hood slightly as he looked at me. I stared into his unblinking eyes, trying to guess what he was thinking. It was easier with wadjet females. At least they looked mostly human, and could be counted on to show their emotions in the same way.
“Alex?” Dee sounded confused, like I was the last person she’d been expecting to find in the reptile house at this hour. The sound of the front door swinging shut followed her question. I turned to face her.
She was wearing a smart-looking blouse and pencil skirt combination, one that was just a little old-fashioned, and hence went perfectly with her impeccable beehive wig. Only the uneven curves of her painted-on eyebrows told me that she was as exhausted as I was. That was a good sign. I didn’t want it to be Dee. Whatever was going on, whoever was involved with it, I didn’t want it to be Dee. I somehow mustered a smile.
“Hi, Dee,” I said. “How are you this morning?”
“What are you doing here? It’s not even seven o’clock.” she asked, walking toward me, and then continuing on past me as she made her way to her office. “You never beat me into the office. Is everything okay at home?”
“We had sort of an exciting night last night.” My eyes were still dry, and I’d found sand on my pillow when I’d finally given up and gotten out of bed. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
Dee’s office was impeccable, unlike mine: every surface was cleaned to within an inch of its life, and only the most essential items were allowed to claim territory. There were a few carefully curated “personal touches,” including a forced-perspective picture of Dee, her daughter Megan, and her husband, whose name I realized I didn’t know. The camera angle had been chosen to make it harder to tell that he was in the neighborhood of seven feet tall, and it worked, mostly, if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
“Did you sleep last night?” she asked, putting her purse on her desk and leaning over to switch on the computer.
“Not really,” I said, following her into the office and closing the door. “I had a lot to do. Sleep wasn’t on the agenda.”
“Oh?”
There were a lot of places I could begin. I didn’t want to tell her about Shelby—not yet. That wasn’t my secret to share, and as long as Shelby wasn’t endangering the local cryptids, I didn’t have to force the issue. Instead, I went for the biggest shock value: “There was a cockatrice in my yard last night. I looked into its eyes.”
Dee’s gasp woke her hair. It hissed softly beneath her wig. “Alex! Oh sweet Athena! Are you all right? You’re all right, aren’t you?” She paused, almost visibly moving on to the next thought. “How are you all right? If you met its eyes, you should have . . . you should . . .”
“Luckily, my cousin was on hand, and I got a good enough look at it before my eyes started turning to stone that I was able to tell her which antivenin to use on me. It was a closer thing than I enjoy, but I’m fine now. A little dehydrated. Nothing a few bottles of Gatorade can’t fix.”
“So a cockatrice turned Andrew to stone?” Her voice was heavy was bald relief . . . and with eagerness. The only question was whether she was eager to have the mystery of Andrew’s death resolved, or eager to have me convinced of what had killed him.
“Yes,” I said, and watched her brighten. “Also, no.” She dimmed just as quickly, expression turning puzzled.
“I . . . I don’t understand. How was it a cockatrice if it wasn’t a cockatrice?”
“It wasn’t alone.” I pulled out my phone, opening my gallery. The most recent image—the puncture wound on Mr. O’Malley’s leg—filled the screen. I held it toward Dee, like Perseus holding his mirrored shield between himself and the fabled Medusa. “Look familiar? Because I checked these against the field guide, and they have the same diameter and spacing as the bite of a Pliny’s gorgon.”
The hissing was louder now, her wig beginning to pulse as her snakes worked themselves up into a fury. “I . . . I don’t . . .”
“We found this wound on my next-door neighbor’s leg after he died of petrifaction. I took venom samples from the surrounding tissue. They tested as gorgon. I didn’t get enough to tell the subtype, but we both know this bite wasn’t made by a greater gorgon, and the bite radius is pretty compelling.” I lowered my phone. “So you tell me, Dee. Please. How was this man killed by a cockatrice if he was bitten by a gorgon? Why was there a cockatrice in my yard? I can’t imagine the two things are unconnected. Then again, I’m the least imaginative member of my family. Maybe I’ll believe you, if you can explain.”
“I . . .” Dee’s shoulders slumped as she reached up to steady her pulsing wig. “I swear to you, Alex, I don’t know. I can’t say for sure that I’d tell you if I knew it was a member of my community who’d done this, because I’ve never been in that position, but I can tell you it’s not any member of my community who I know. They would never have done this.”
“You have to know how this looks.”
“Yeah, well, maybe so does somebody else, did you consider that?” She glared at me, the familiar fierceness back in her eyes. “Anybody who knows I work for you could have mocked up those bite marks as a way to make you accuse me.”
“To what end?”
“To keep you from looking for the real killer.”
I paused. “That’s not a bad theory,” I said, after a moment of thought. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re right back at it being something other than just a cockatrice. So if it wasn’t a Pliny’s gorgon, what was it?”